


War and Peace

by townshend



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Community: slashthedrabble, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a war handed down through the generations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War and Peace

It was a war.

Desmond stared down at the bracer on his arm, noting the complex design; the gears and runners that held the blade in place. He was part of something big now, something he'd never wanted, and it was all... too much.

Shaun laid a hand on his shoulder before leaning down, placing the other on his arm, forcibly lowering it from Desmond's view.

"Don't think," he said. Desmond looked at him, judging.

"How can I not?" he asked, breathlessly.

Hesitation, before Shaun answered, "I can show you," and he pressed his lips against Desmond's, quieting the buzz.

 

* * *

 

"Does it ever bother you?" Malik asked one night as they sat on the rooftop, watching the sun go down.

"What?" Altaïr asked.

"Taking lives."

"Of course not." Altaïr's expression was stiff. "Everyone who meets my blade deserves it. You know that. You went through the training yourself."

"Yes," Malik agreed. "It is only..." He paused, thinking. "I fear you come closer to your own death with each kill you make."

They sat in silence as the sun sunk under Jerusalem's walls. They both knew that, with each parting, it could be their last.

That night, as Altaïr rested for the assassination he would commit the following morning, Malik held him tighter than he ever had before, his one good arm wrapped tight around Altaïr's chest. Altaïr pressed himself against Malik's body, wishing to leave a permanent tattoo there.

He wanted to tell Malik that he did it all for revenge, to atone, for Malik, for Kadar - but the room stayed silent, the words never coming to his lips.

As Malik watched him leave when the sun came up, Altaïr spared, for the first time, a parting glance, trying to communicate everything he couldn't say in that final look.

 

* * *

 

Leonardo hated this war.

He understood it was necessary - there was no convincing Ezio otherwise, and the Templars were a threat - but he hated it just the same. For years, he had been the shelter for Ezio to come to when he could go nowhere else - when he was beaten, bloodied, and bruised, Ezio would come to him, and Leonardo would lead him inside, patching him up.

"We've made progress," Ezio said one night, wiping back his rain-soaked hair. "This may all be over soon, Leonardo."

"Will you retire?" Leonardo joked, smiling. "You are getting old, _amico._ "

"What nerve!" Ezio laughed, reaching out and fluffing a hand through the other man's hair. "Will you retire from your paintings and inventions?"

"Of course not," Leonardo answered, simply. "But my work is not so dangerous."

"It is only I who makes life dangerous for you," Ezio mused, hitching breath as Leonardo pulled his armor apart, studying the deep wound there. "Perhaps I should stop seeing you."

"That is hardly a solution," Leonardo said, his shoulders stiffening. The thought of losing Ezio to a knife or arrow was hard enough to bare. Ezio leaving him voluntarily, even if it was for protection, was too much for words. "I will just have to find better ways of keeping us both safe."

Ezio threw him a lopsided grin, relaxing against the bed. "This is a solution. I trust your hands."

"Do you?" Leonardo smiled, lips pursed. "They can do more than invent, _assassino._ "

"Yes? You should exercise your creativity in other ways," Ezio teased, hooking a hand behind Leonardo's neck and pulling him down. Their lips met, Leonardo's hands easing into Ezio's flesh like hardened clay, molding new shapes there.

Michaelangelo thought he was the master sculptor. Tonight, Leonardo would have to prove him wrong.


End file.
